


soft touches

by Areiton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a Good Alpha, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Oblivious Scott, Pack Dynamics, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:56:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Stiles watches, the way the betas avoid him, the way Derek never spars with him, the way he holds himself still and brittle, his gaze mocking, like he can convince them he doesn’t want what they won’t offer.Stiles thinks they buy it because they don’t care enough to look deeper.





	soft touches

 

[ ](https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPWSR1RwU04/WxaYJsd7-zI/AAAAAAAADmU/KCi8Z4zpNnwq44OHyg1Y7ta-nLQVHRAIwCLcBGAs/s1600/18c18548529d73e9c74792a6dd6b63c7%2B%25282%2529.jpg)

 

 

It takes him a while to notice. 

He thinks it’s probably fair--even after Peter came back from the dead, there was so much constant chaos that it takes him time to  _ see _ . 

The pack is in constant touch--Scott curled around Allison, on the fringe because even now, there’s a lingering distrust in the betas, in Derek, around the huntress. 

The betas cuddle each other constantly, Erica spilling across Boyd and Isaac’s laps, dragging Jackson into their cuddlefest while he whines but settles, and pulls Lydia with him. 

Derek touches them constantly, gentle nudges that correct their form during training, brushing against them to scent mark, a solid grip on the back of their necks to steer and settle and reassure. He lets Isaac lean against his legs during movie nights, and Erica cling like a monkey to his back while they’re grocery shopping and arm wrestles Boyd for the hell of it. Jackson is shy, presses close in the kitchen before darting away. 

They’re wolves and tactile and Stiles notices, because he’s good at noticing things, has been doing it most of his life, and he isn’t excluded from that, although he doesn’t let himself get pulled into puppy piles, and he keeps himself separate from Lydia and Allison out of self-preservation instincts. 

And that’s when he notices--

No one touches Peter. 

 

~*~

 

He’s pack in the way that Allison is pack--tolerated but not trusted, used but not wanted. And Allison accepts that, doesn’t mind because she doesn’t truly want to be pack, she wants Scott--she has her father and Lydia and very little use for a pack of resentful baby ‘wolves. 

Peter though--Peter is a born wolf, deprived of his pack for years, after watching most of them burn, feeling all of those bonds snap, and Stiles watches, the way the betas avoid him, the way Derek never spars with him, the way he holds himself still and brittle, his gaze mocking, like he can convince them he doesn’t want what they won’t offer. 

Stiles thinks they buy it because they don’t care enough to look deeper. 

 

~*~

 

The first time, they’re at a pack meeting, and Stiles times it perfectly, takes a phone call from Dad while the hungry pack descends on the pizza. 

Peter lingers over his book and only when they wander back, with heavy plates and fizzy drinks, and eager smiles, does he shift, standing to pick his dinner from the remains. 

Stiles reaches for a slice as Peter does, their fingers brushing and the wolf flinches away as though burned, swaying a little as he flicks a shocked look at Stiles. 

Who grins and presses a hand, softly, to his shoulder as he snags a slice of cheese and says cheekily, “Hurry, Zombiewolf. Movie’s starting.” 

 

~*~

 

The second time, it’s a full moon, and Peter is strolling through the preserve while the pack runs, shouting and laughing and giddy from this threat-free night, when a hot mobile body collides with his back and Stiles laughs in his ear as he latches on to his back. Long legs wrap around his hips and Stiles leans into him, rubbing against him as he says, “We’re gonna race Derek and Erica.” 

“Stiles--” Peter protests and the boy kicks him in the ribs. 

“Unless you think you can’t beat him.” 

There’s a teasing challenge in his voice and Peter snarls, eyes flashing before he plunges into the woods, Erica’s laughter and Derek’s roar chasing them, and Stiles breathing, happy and hot against his skin. 

 

~*~

 

The fourth, fifth and sixth time are while they’re putting a puzzle together, waiting for a spell to heat, and Peter didn’t flinch back by the sixth time, but Stiles could feel him watching. 

 

~*~

 

The tenth time is Stiles pressing against his leg during a pack meeting, casually sprawling on the floor, long fingers looped around his ankle and Peter wasn’t sure how no one could see it, but it was so blatant and possessive, that he shuddered, and Stiles stroked the soft thin skin in response, gentle and soft and steady. 

 

~*~

 

He is completely unsurprised to find Peter in his bedroom when he climbs the stairs, and even less surprised when the werewolf crowds into him, backing him against the door, and snarling. 

“What are you  _ doing?” _

“Do you want me to stop?” Stiles asks instead of answering and Peter stares at him. 

“You’re pack,” Stiles tells him, gently. “They all have this.” 

Longing and grief cloud blue eyes for a moment and he says, voice thick, “I’m not like them. I don’t--”

“You were hurt, and insane,” Stiles says, fiercely, pushing closer but not touching, not quite. Peter’s gaze darts to Stiles hands, hovering above his skin, and back to fierce, stubborn whiskey brown eyes. “You did horrible things because horrible things were done to you and I won’t say you were right--but what they’re doing isn’t right either.” 

“Why do you  _ care?”  _ Peter chokes out and Stiles shakes his head. 

“Do you want me to stop?” A whisper of a question, desperate for an answer, hands itching to reach out and forcing himself to wait for Peter’s response. 

The werewolf whines, high and hurt and pushes into Stiles, ducks his head to tuck himself against the boy’s throat and he shudders when Stiles finally grips him, a strong hand at the back of his neck, a grounding grip on his hip, and he goes utterly limp, melting against the boy, pliant as Stiles maneuvers him into bed and clinging to him as Stiles pets his hair, his skin, scent marking and claiming, his touch soft and sweet. 

 

~*~

 

For the first few days, after, Peter is shy, watching with worried eyes, holding himself apart, and relief leaks into his eyes when Stiles presses against him, catches his hand and drags him into the kitchen to help make cookies, curls under his arm while Peter read and falls asleep there. 

It takes a few days, and then it’s like he gets it, gets that he can  _ have _ this, and Peter is suddenly there, always, touching him casually and possessively, never far, dragging Stiles closer when he wasn’t pleased by the distance. 

 

~*~

 

He's aloof around the pack, even as he crawls into Stiles bed every night, and spends so much time in the Stilinski home John stops reaching for his gun when he sees Peter. 

Peter says the pack won't understand and is careful to never reach for Stiles in front of them. Stiles hates it, hates the brittle way Peter moves after pack meetings. He especially hates that Peter is right. 

Derek finds out first, months after that night in Stiles bedroom. He walks in to Stiles’ house to find Stiles straddling  Peter’s lap, the wolf pressed to his throat while he sleeps and Stiles doing his homework on the back of the couch. He gives Stiles a shocked look, a growl rumbling in his throat, looking like he'd rip Stiles from his uncle and kill Peter a second time.

Stiles glares back, defiant and vaguely disappointed, and Derek flushes slowly, before he runs his fingers through Peter’s hair and slips away. 

 

~*~

 

It’s not perfect, and sometimes Peter snaps, furious and isolated, even with Stiles, and Stiles snarls and pokes, his words a devastating weapon. But he always crawls back into Stiles’ bed, after they fight, or welcomes Stiles into his arms. 

Scott--none of them, but Scott is the one who cares--doesn’t understand, and Stiles tries to explain--it’s not sexual. It’s pack. They have a fight, where Scott screams about everything Peter and Derek did to hurt him and Stiles shouts about hypocrisy and he’s trying to take care of Peter, he doesn’t want to fuck him, for god’s sake, a fight that ends in Scott storming out and Derek looking impossibly fragile and Stiles huffs, but abandons his favorite wolf to comfort his alpha, grounding him with touch and scent and the quiet, “He didn’t mean it. He’s just angry.” 

Derek shivers but eventually pushes him away, and crawls into his bed. 

Peter is quiet as he leads Stiles to his bedroom in the loft, quiet as he pushes him down into the dark sheets where they so often nap, quiet as he wrestles Stiles’ shoes off and curls into bed next to him, both settling into place with familiar ease. 

Stiles breathing goes soft and sleepy and Peter says, “You lied.” 

“I do that a lot,” Stiles mumbles. “‘s your favorite thing about me.” 

Peter huffs because he’s not wrong, but. “You lied to Scott. You said you didn’t want to fuck  me.” 

Stiles goes stiff and still, nerves filling his sweet scent and Peter peers down at him. “That was a lie.” 

“It’s not nice, doing that lie detector thing.” Stiles says. 

Peter frowns. 

“I didn’t--look, I wasn’t going to tell you. I know that’s not something you want, I’m not trying to change what we are, just ignor-” 

Peter kisses him, and Stiles flails for a moment, before one hand finds his hip and the other grips the back of his neck and Peter whimpers into the kiss, licking into his mouth with kittenish little strokes, begging for entry that has Stiles moaning as he arches into Peter’s weight. He’s panting when he pulls back and he brushes against Stiles cheek, rubbing his scent there before he dips down to leave a truly  _ beautiful _ bruise on his pale neck. Peter smiles at it, pleased, while Stiles whimpers under him. 

“I want to change,” he says, and Stiles blinks at him, dazed and hungry and Peter smiles, the secretive little smile he gives to Stiles and only Stiles, and shows Stiles a new way to touch, soft and sweet, all night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I don't know, I got out of bed at 2am to write this nonsense because touch-starved Peter wouldn't get out of my head.
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://areiton.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
